Grumble In The Jungle
by C3POwen
Summary: This is the first full length Discworld story that I wrote and actually finished (which was about 2 years ago), so after getting a little bit of positive feedback for previous stuff that I posted I thought that I may as well share this with you...
1. Brigadoon!

**GRUMBLE IN THE JUNGLE  
Owen Burgoyne**

**Chapter 1: Brigadoon!**

* * *

The wind whipped the rain through the desolate streets of Ankh-Morpork. It was days like these that made its residents glad they had roofs. The storm had been brewing for the past week, dark clouds forming in the skies towards Klatch, and within an hour had turned the river Ankh into a solid thing covered with water. Clouds swirled in the sky like a bad liquid-based special effect. 

Wee Mad Arthur sped down a small stream on the back of a drowned rat through the Shades. "See yoo!" he yelled, as an old tomcat took a swipe at his speeding rodent. 

But somewhere on the Disc, out from the Circle Sea, towards the Brown Islands, the sea boiled and bubbled. A small fish swam near the steaming water and turned into a spoon. A high magical field was forming, and it wasn't messing about. 

Something was going to happen and it was going to happen soon... 

* * *

As the rain settled down, a horse-drawn carriage slowly trotted down Rope Street. It stopped outside a small cake shop and the coachman jumped down and opened the door. A young man stepped out, bag over his shoulder, and looked nervously around. He walked up to the shop, opened the door and stepped in. 

"Erm..." He looked at the elderly woman standing behind the counter. 

"Can I help you dear?" she asked. 

"Er, I've come for the Guild," he said. "I _have_ come to the right place, haven't I? Only I thought it would be in a large old building. Like the Assassins' Guild or something." 

"Oh, this is the right place all right," she said. "If you take the stairs up round the back and knock on the first door you come to, I think Mr Michelmas may be in there, and he'll be able to help you." 

"Thank you," said the young man. He picked up his one and only bag, and headed up the staircase. He reached the small rug-covered landing and knocked on the door. 

"Come in," said a voice from within. 

The young man turned the handle and walked in. It had the look of a room that had been well lived-in. There was a small semi-circle of wooden chairs around a table by the window and a large wooden chest at the other. Two of the walls were covered in maps and charts. Against the wall opposite the window stood a large bookcase. There were, however, no books on it. It seemed only to contain row upon row of strange little artefacts. Small wooden men, strange animal skulls, a dead fern in a pot, and various other pieces of bric-a-brac scattered the shelves. 

And on one of the chairs sat Mr Michelmas. He was an elderly man with ruffled brown hair parted down the centre. He smiled at the young man. "Can I help you my good fellow?" he asked. 

"Erm, I believe you received a letter a few weeks ago. About a new student, sir." 

"Can't say I remember a letter I'm afraid," said Michelmas. "Still, it may be filed on the shelf over there. I'll go and have a look for you." He walked over to the bookcase and picked up a small stack of papers. "Let's see," he said to himself. Mr Michelmas shuffled through them and picked one out. "Are you, by any chance, called Stony McPeake?" 

"Er, no sir." 

"Oh, hang on. Ah ha! Here it is!" exclaimed Michelmas. "You must be young Herringsway." 

"That's right, sir," said Herringsway. "I'm here to enrol at the Guild." 

"Enrol ... right. I'll just get the right forms and you can fill them in." Michelmas walked over to the old wooden chest, opened it and pulled out a old dusty folder. He handed Herringsway a few sheets of yellowing paper and an old quill pen. "Right you are then. If you wouldn't mind filling these in, I'll just--" 

Suddenly the door slammed open and two men strode in; a third man walked in quietly and sat down. The first, a man of a similar age to Mr Michelmas, had a thick white beard. He wore a thick green jerkin, rugged brown trousers with off-white socks pulled over and up to the knees. Battered old boots adorned his feet and, in one hand, he carried a long wooden walking stick. 

He turned and looked at Michelmas. "What's going on here then, Phillip?" he said. His voiced boomed around the room, lifting dust off the shelves. 

"He's come to enrol." 

"New recruit, eh?" He walked over to Herringsway. "Always wanted to see the world then, son? Liked the thought of going to foreign climes, eh? Seeing things ordinary folk only ever dream about? Well lad?" he shouted. 

"'s sir," mumbled Herringsway. 

"Good," said the man. "The name's General Edward J. N. Blest. Welcome to the Guild of Explorers!" 

* * *

As the open expanse of sea Hubwards of the Brown Islands sloshed about, a shoal of knives and forks darted amongst the seaweed. A giant sieve swam through them, draining plankton through its fine mesh. And then it happened. 

It was over in an instant, leaving an unassuming albatross blinded by the flash. The newly-created mass sat there, as if it had been there all along. 

It was an island. 

* * *

The one thing that there is to understand about news is that it travels fast, and on the Discworld this is no exception. The news of the island reached Ankh-Morpork within two days of its appearance. 

General Blest, head of the Explorers' Guild, burst into the Guild's front room; the other four members currently not on expeditions sat bolt upright. Kevin, the only member that Herringsway hadn't spoken to yet, was busy updating a map. 

"Right then chaps, I want you to listen up," he said. "I'm sure you've all heard about this new island that's just popped up near Fourecks. Now, I'm not a rash man, but--" 

One of the others quietly laughed to himself in the manner of someone who doesn't quite believe what they're hearing. This man looked, due to his thick black moustache, like a neatly groomed walrus. His skin complexion also had similar qualities. 

"Thank you, Mr Jones," said Blest. "Anyway, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, a new island seems to have appeared out of nowhe--" 

"It could be a brigadoon," said Mr Jones. He had a gruff Llamedesian accent. "Get a lot of 'em about, y'know. Appearin' here and there." 

"He's right Edward," said Mr Michelmas. "It just could be a brigadoon." 

"Hmmm, maybe," said the General. "Anyway, the question I was originally going to ask was who'd like to come with me to claim it in the name of Civilization? If we're there before any of those damned foreigners it would be a triumph for the Guild." He stuck his chest out like a pigeon, proud of the work that he'd put into giving the Guild of Explorers a good name. "Well?" 

"I think it sounds like a thoroughly good idea, Edward!" exclaimed Mr Michelmas. 

"Worth a shot, I suppose," added Jones. "Can't be worse than last time." 

"Would it be all right if I came along?" asked Herringsway. "I've been itching to get out into the world." 

"Oh really?" said Blest. "That's what young Kevin said when he first joined. Now look at him. Hasn't spoken a word since the incident in Klatch two years ago." 

"Why? What happened?" asked Herringsway. 

"Haven't a clue," said Jones, "but he _did_ discover an entirely new breed of pig. Bloody strange it was too; all tusks and trotters and piss." 

"This is beside the point!" bellowed Blest. 

"I was only sayin'," said Jones defensively. 

"Look! Do you, or do you not, want to go to this damned island?!" 

The other four, sat in silence, nodded dumbly in agreement. 

"Right then gentlemen," said General Blest, "best get your rucksacks packed and ready; we leave first thing in the morning." 

* * *

"Grumble in the Jungle" is copyright (C) Owen Burgoyne 2002. Discworld (R) is a trade mark registered by Terry Pratchett. All the characters in this story are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 


	2. The Island

**GRUMBLE IN THE JUNGLE  
Owen Burgoyne**

**Chapter 2: The Island**

* * *

The explorers set out on their journey. After many days sailing, their ship caught sight of land. This was somewhat of a relief to Herringsway who had never been on a boat before; he had learned about seasickness the hard way. 

The ship, a merchant vessel bound for the Agatean Empire, had agreed to take them to the island they had heard so much about. Were the stories true? Stories of monkeys with rings on their tails? Lizards that sunbathed on the beach? To Herringsway, this all sounded like something he'd read in a book. This was probably the case since he'd spent most of his life reading things from books anyway. It explained his pallid complexion. 

Of course, Kevin, only a few years older than himself, had already discovered a new breed of pig, so anything was possible. 

And so, the ship had arrived at the island and the explorers, using a small wooden rowboat, landed on a white sandy beach. At the fringes of the mass of tropical forest stood tall palm trees, swaying in the gentle breeze. And beyond the palm trees was nothing but a dark green mass of foliage. 

"Right then chaps," said the General, "we have an island. Now let's go and claim it for Civilization!" With that, General Blest held up his walking stick, let out what can only be called a battle cry, and charged towards the undergrowth. 

Herringsway stood there and stared. "Wh-wh-wh...?" he stuttered. 

"Oh, it's just something Edward does," said Mr Michelmas. "Ever since his military service, he's thought surprise was the best form of attack." 

"But who's he attacking? I thought we were _explorers_," said Herringsway. 

"Haven't a bloody clue who he's attacking to be honest. Never have," said Jones. "Scares them bloody big wild cats away though." 

"W-wild cats?" said Herringsway, his voice sounding both shaken _and_ stirred. 

Jones saw this as an ideal opportunity for a bit of fun. "Oh yes, great big ones; with fangs as long as your fingers. Some of 'em get as big as that boat." He pointed to the old rowing boat sat at the edge of the beach. "Eat you as soon as look at you, they will." Herringsway was visibly trembling. 

"Now, now Jonesy," said Michelmas. "Don't start putting things into the young lad's head. It's his first expedition and we don't want to start giving him the willies." 

"All right," sighed Jones. 

A twig from the forest cracked, and three of them looked up. Kevin was sat down on the beach, drawing things in the sand. Out of the green darkness walked Blest. "Well, I think we should have a quiet journey through the forest. You should see those animals run! You'd think I was a damned monster or something!" 

Jones laughed to himself. 

"Well then?!" bellowed General Blest. "What are we waiting for? Let's go!" 

* * *

For three hours, the expedition trekked through the dense jungle, General Blest hitting things with his walking stick as they went. So far, it had been uneventful.* 

"Shouldn't we have found something by now?" enquired Herringsway. 

Jones, who was walking behind him, sighed. "Y'know, every bloody time we go somewhere with the old bastard, we _always_ get lost. 's good thing we got young Kevin here, he's the only one who seems to know where to bloody go." 

Kevin, walking next to Blest, held a compass. As he walked, he just stared at the small dial, oblivious to all around him. Suddenly, he stopped, lifted his head and sniffed the air. Tugging at Blest's jerkin, he pointed at another similar-looking part of the jungle. 

"What's that lad? Think you've found something?" said the General. 

Kevin looked at Blest and nodded. 

"Right then, gentleman," said Blest. "This way!" 

* * *

* A chance meeting with an interestingly-striped and angry wild cat had been a highlight, until it saw the imposing figure of General Blest and decided that hanging around might not be a good idea. 

* * *

The hours passed and the group seemed to be going nowhere. The General strode ahead of the others, pipe in mouth, stick in hand. 

"You know what we need?" said General Blest. 

"No," said Jones, sarcastically. "What _do_ we need?" 

"We need a damned good drink." 

"Oh, that'd be helpful, wouldn't it?" said Jones, stopping. "And what good would a drink be? We're stuck out here in the middle of the jungle on a strange island, and you want a drink. Bloody marvellous!" 

"Now listen here, Taffy--" began Blest, still walking ahead. 

"I told you not to call me that," snapped Jones. 

"He did, you know," said Mr Michelmas. "Now come on Edward, be fair. That time with the young girl and the jar of treacle in Bes Pelargic is something we said we'd never talk about again." 

"What young girl?" asked Herringsway. 

Jones shot a look at Michelmas, then at Herringsway. 

"Sorry," said Herringsway. 

"Yes, I am sorry," said Mr Michelmas. "We won't mention it aga--" 

There was a thud to the left of the group, followed by the kind of sound that can only be created by twanging a wooden ruler on the edge of a school desk. The explorers slowly turned in unison to see an arrow embedded into a tree trunk. 

It was still vibrating. 

"Ah! Excellent!" said General Blest. "Natives!" 

"Great..." sighed Jones. "Natives." 

* * *

As the intrepid group of explorers trudged through the dense heat of the jungle, the thought of unruly natives hidden in the deep green foliage began to send shivers up Herringsway's spine. 

"So these, er, natives," said Herringsway. "Any chance that they might be a little bit dangerous?" 

"No chance of them being a little bit dangerous at all," said Blest, still walking ahead. "They'll either be completely harmless or _incredibly_ dangerous." 

Herringsway could feel the jungle closing in on him. He was sure he could see eyes peering out from between the giant leaves. 

"I remember those bloody savages we met a few years ago," said Jones. "You know, the ones that lived in that walled city." 

Michelmas glared at Jones. "Alwyn, that was the Agatean Empire! One of the most civilized places on the Disc! To them we must have looked like barbarians!" 

"They gave us bloody sheep's eyeballs to eat! That's hardly civilized is it?" 

"But you seemed to enjoy yourself there." 

"And we all remember what happened in Bes Pelargic, don't we?" added Blest. 

Jones shot a look at Blest. "Now I told you not to--" 

"Yes, yes," interrupted the General. "Now we really must be getting along. We have an untouched civilization to find!" 

The group walked along in silence for another twenty minutes when, all of a sudden, Kevin stopped and cocked his head to one side. 

"What is it boy?" asked General Blest. "Heard something have you?" 

Kevin nodded and pointed in the direction of another identical-looking part of the jungle. 

"Good lad," said Blest, and plunged on into the dense greenery. 

The others just stood there, listening. They could hear nothing but the rustle of undergrowth and the occasional growl of a wild animal that had just made contact for the very first time with the walking stick of General Edward Blest. 

Suddenly there was a distant yell of "Bloody hell!" 

"That was Edward," said Michelmas. "Quick!" 

The remaining explorers darted off in the direction of Blest's voice. 

* * *

"Grumble in the Jungle" is copyright (C) Owen Burgoyne 2002. Discworld (R) is a trade mark registered by Terry Pratchett. All the characters in this story are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 


	3. Natives...

**GRUMBLE IN THE JUNGLE  
Owen Burgoyne**

**Chapter 3: Natives...**

* * *

Blest stood there, walking stick in hand and pipe in mouth, staring at a giant pyramid. 

"What the hell is that?" asked Jones. 

"Damned if I know," said Blest. "Looks like a pyramid." 

"A pyramid in the middle of the jungle?" said Herringsway. "I thought you only found pyramids in Djelibeybi and Tsort." 

"Well," began Michelmas, "pyramids, or a form of pyramid, have been found in the Kingdom of Tezuma, deep in the jungle valleys of Klatch. Although not _strictly_ pyramids, they roughly conform to the shape: wide at the bottom, pointy at the top." 

"Bloody hell," sighed Jones, feeling another of Michelmas' lectures coming on. 

"I was only telling him about pyramids," said Michelmas defensively. "Anyway, this pyramid looks like one of the Tezumen pyramids, or temples as they are actually used for. Usually for ritual sacrifices to their god Quezovercoatl, I believe." 

Jones rolled his eyes and sighed again. 

"Sorry," apologized Michelmas. 

The group stared up at the pyramid. There were steps running up all four sides, with a large stone table on its flat top. Vines and creepers had slowly grown up around the sides, but they seemed to have been cleared from the stairways. 

"Looks like we've found us some civilization," beamed the General. 

The explorers walked over to the temple and began to look around. The sides of the temple, made from large tight-fitting stone blocks, were covered in pictograms. While Blest, Michelmas and Kevin headed up to the top of the temple, Jones and Herringsway walked around the base and inspected the chiselled drawings. 

"Look at this one," said Jones, pointing to one of the many pictures. 

"What are those people doing?" 

"Take a closer look." 

"Oh my god! That's illegal!" 

"Have a look at this one," said Jones, pointing at another pictogram. 

"Oh my _god_! That's ... that's ... that's _impossible_!" 

"They may not be as civilized as us, boyo, but they've got bloody good imaginations, haven't they?" Jones pulled a piece of paper from his rucksack and began to make a rubbing of one of the more interesting images. "For research, you understand," he explained to Herringsway. "Now why don't you go on and find the other three. I'll be up in a minute or two." 

Herringsway nodded and headed up the steps to the top of the temple. 

When he reached the top, the other three were nowhere to be seen. He walked around a large stone table, noticing the blood stains. Something on the floor caught his eye - it was Kevin's compass, the glass glinting in the sunlight. 

He rushed back down the steps to where Jones was taking the stone rubbings. As he reached the bottom of the steps he could see that Jones wasn't there either. 

Panic set in. 

"General! General Blest!" he shouted. No answer. 

"Jones! _Mr Jones!_" Still no answer. 

"MR MICHELMAS!" he yelled. Nothing but silence. 

There was the crack of a twig behind him and, as he went to turn round, everything went dark. 

* * *

The first thing that Herringsway noticed as he regained consciousness was the uncomfortable feeling around his body. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a small wooden hut tied to a supporting pole. The other explorers were also tied to poles and were, Kevin excepted, talking amongst themselves. 

Herringsway cleared his throat. 

"Awake now are we?" said Blest. 

"What happened?" asked Herringsway. 

"Natives," stated Jones. "That's what happened. Wily little devils they were. Sneaked up on us while we were looking at their bloody temple then WALLOP! Next thing we know, we're all tied up to these poles!" 

The hut's doorway darkened, and a large figure filled the space. 

It was a large, dark-skinned man decorated in colourful paints and feathers, wearing nothing but a loincloth, a few leather straps and a necklace with a small animal skull attached to it. He had a large paunch and was holding a gold staff in one hand and a long pipe in the other. The staff had a large sun emblem upon it. 

He turned out of the hut and grunted. A smaller, thinner man joined him. The second man was less extravagantly decorated, wearing only a loincloth and a small necklace made of bones. 

The large man whispered into the smaller man's ear, and the second man nodded. 

The small man walked over to the tied up explorers and pulled out a knife. 

"Now listen here!" spluttered General Blest. "I must--" 

"Silence," said the large man holding up his staff, his deep voice booming around the hut like a dark overlord with a breathing problem. 

General Blest went silent. 

The small man looked at the helpless explorers. "Chief want you be quiet." 

Mr Michelmas leaned towards Blest. "It would appear that the large man is the Chief." 

"Thank you Phillip, I managed to work that one out for myself," said the General. He looked up at the Chief. "Now look here, Chiefy," began the General, "I demand that you let us go this second, otherwise ... otherwise..." His voice trailed out. 

The small man looked back at the Chief in the doorway. The Chief nodded at him and he continued forward with the knife, walking towards Kevin. 

"STOP!" shouted Blest. "I know he's young and a bit tubby, but that doesn't mean he's going to taste nice, does it?! Now leave him alone!" He struggled in the binding ropes, looking for something to pick up and hit someone with. 

The Chief started to laugh. 

The other explorers looked around at each other in confusion. 

* * *

"Grumble in the Jungle" is copyright (C) Owen Burgoyne 2002. Discworld (R) is a trade mark registered by Terry Pratchett. All the characters in this story are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 


	4. The Golden Statue

**GRUMBLE IN THE JUNGLE  
Owen Burgoyne**

**Chapter 4: The Golden Statue**

* * *

Two hours later the Guild of Explorers made their way back through the jungle. 

"Friendly chap that Chief, eh?" said Blest, smoking on his pipe. "Nice of him to give me that funny green tobacco of his, too." 

"Er, yes Edward. I wouldn't smoke that if I were you," suggested Michelmas. 

"Why ever not Phillip?! Seems like a damn shame to waste it!" 

"Well, it may not have quite the same properties as the tobacco you're used to smoking." Michelmas looked around at the others, and then whispered into Blest's ear. "It may be ... _hallucinogenic_." 

"Poppycock! That green tea they gave us didn't do me any harm!" Blest looked around at the rest of the explorers. "Where's Herringsway disappeared to?" 

There was the sound of someone being violently sick from behind a large tree. 

"I don't think that green tea agreed with him," said Jones. "Tasted bloody disgustin' anyway. I'd rather drink my own piss." 

"Quite," said Michelmas. "And that little golden statue was a very nice gift, wasn't it? Solid hand-forged gold by the look of it. And, if I'm not mistaken, the design is reminiscent of idols forged centuries ago in the jungle valleys of deepest, darkest Klatch. They usually represented one of their many lesser deities, and were normally kept safely in their sacred temples." 

"Bloody amazing," said Jones sarcastically. 

"Ah, I think I see the beach through the trees." 

As they walked out of the fringes of the jungle onto the golden sand, they could see the merchant vessel in the distance. 

"They must have waited for us. How nice of them," said Michelmas. 

Blest reached into his rucksack and pulled out a small crossbow and a little wooden box. "This should do the trick." 

"What is it?" asked Herringsway, still feeling nauseous. 

"Flare," said Blest. He cocked the crossbow and opened the box. Inside it sat a drowsy salamander. Blest gently lifted out the salamander, loaded it into the crossbow, closed his eyes and aimed vaguely at the sky. 

Before the sleepy creature had a chance to realize what was going on, it was flying up into the air at a rapidly increasing rate. It was the shock of this that caused it flash brightly in the sky. 

"That should do the trick," smiled the General. 

* * *

After the ship had made its stop at Bes Pelargic, during which Jones spent the entire time hidden inside one of the cabins, they slowly headed back to Ankh-Morpork. 

As the warm sun shone onto the deck, most of the explorers were enjoying the warm weather. Herringsway was leaning over the side of the ship making gurgling noises and managing to make his face turn an impressive shade of green. 

Michelmas was sat on a pile of sacks, looking at the gold statue. "You know Alwyn, I've a funny feeling I've seen one of these before." 

"Well, when you've seen one bloody golden idol you've seen 'em all. Give it here and let me have a look," said Jones, taking it from Michelmas. "It's lighter than I thought it would be." He tapped it on the head. "And it sounds hollow! Bloody cheapskates!" He looked at the gurning face of the statue again. "You're right though; there is something familiar about it." 

"And I can't work out what the inscription on the bottom means, either." 

Jones upturned the statue and squinted at the writing. "Haven't a clue I'm afraid. I was bloody useless at Klatchian when I was at school." He passed it back to Michelmas. 

Herringsway, who was still making gurgling noises, looked over. "I was always quite good at languages," he said, wiping a dribble of vomit away from his chin. "What does it say?" 

"Well, I'm not sure of the pronunciation, but I think it says ... _Dibbler_." 

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

"Grumble in the Jungle" is copyright (C) Owen Burgoyne 2002. Discworld (R) is a trade mark registered by Terry Pratchett. All the characters in this story are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 


End file.
